


The Slow Slip

by waterbird13



Category: Leverage
Genre: CTE, Concussions, Found Family, Illness, Memory Loss, Multi, Permanent Injury, Super Married, adjusting to new normals, angsty, but kind of just meloncholy, like it's not outright depressing, memory problems, they really love each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25227145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbird13/pseuds/waterbird13
Summary: Parker and Hardison notice that Eliot is becoming way more forgetful than he used to be, which leads to some hard truths and adjustments for their little family.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer
Comments: 17
Kudos: 116





	The Slow Slip

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> Here's another Leverage fic. This just came to me and was written very quickly.
> 
> A few warnings about this: One, Eliot has what is probably CTE (although CTE cannot be officially confirmed until after death). He's becoming forgetful in little ways during this fic, but everyone knows it will only escalate and grow worse.
> 
> Eliot is facing this condition and cannot magically be made better. That gives this fic a whole bittersweet/melancholy feel, because it's the team working with what they have now, but understanding this this will hang over their heads forever.
> 
> There's a whole lot of talk in here about Eliot wanting to die for Parker and Hardison, about how that's how he pictures himself going out. It's not suicidal, but it could take on a suicidal tone, particularly when he expresses how he's afraid of living with this condition.
> 
> I usually promise happy ending fics, and this fic ending is happy! But! They know things are lurking around the corners for them. Be warned.
> 
> One last thing. I have very little experience with people suffering memory loss, particularly in the long-term, degenerative way I've written here. I have done my best.
> 
> Alright, those are the big things. This is not betad, so I apologize.
> 
> I hope you enjoy--please let me know if you do.

Eliot starts to forget things. Little things, at first, like hesitating too long to remember where he put the tea he likes, or mixing up left and right for a few moments, or letting small things, like taking out the trash or what time movie night starts, slip his mind.

It wouldn’t be noticeable. Would be ordinary human error, forgivable and something they’re all prone to, were it anyone else. Were Eliot in love with anyone else. 

And of course they forgive his small slip ups. Of course they do.

But Parker and Hardison know Eliot Spencer inside, outside, backwards, and forwards. They might not know every part of his past, but they know the man he is  _ now _ better than anything. Better than Eliot does sometimes, maybe.

And this isn’t usual Eliot behavior in the slightest.

Their Eliot has a mind like a steel trap. Hardison’s always marvelled at it, because he knows a lot but he’s more like a database, storing and retrieving information. Eliot just always has it right there, whether it’s a very distinctive boot or the smell of a person he hasn’t seen in five years, or the names of all of Hardison’s online friends, or every single ingredient and step in seemingly hundreds of finicky little recipes. 

Eliot doesn’t forget. He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t make himself a second cup of coffee in the morning because he forgot he already has one on the kitchen table. He doesn’t have to slowly ask Amy the date, the dawning realization that it’s somehow slipped his mind creasing his brow.

And then…Hardison is forced to watch from the van in dawning horror as Eliot forgets his cover story.

It’s a simple slip up. Maybe anyone could do it, considering all the characters Eliot has played over the years. Just a mistake, maybe.

Eliot Spencer doesn’t make mistakes.

Eliot seems to feel the same way, back at the apartment, licking their wounds after the disastrous failed con they barely escaped from. “Stupid, stupid,” he rails, quietly. “How could I be so  _ fucking careless _ .”

Hardison exchanges a glance with Parker, who is looking at him wide-eyed and half panicked. 

For a split second, he debates trying to steady Eliot, trying to get him to stop pacing and ranting. He’ll snarl and snap, but he’ll mostly calm down if Hardison tells him that this type of mistake could happen to anyone enough times.

But he’s not going to lie to Eliot. He’s not going to con Eliot, not about his own mind. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. “El,” he begins, voice as soothing as he can make it, and completely ineffective, “C’mere a minute.”

Eliot freezes, muscles tensed, and it’s a toss-up if he’ll actually do it or not. Hardison holds his breath.

Eliot must really need him, because he comes over and sits down opposite them, and Hardison’s heart breaks all over again. There’s something in Eliot’s eyes, something he’s only seen a handful of times before.

Something he and Parker should drag him to bed and soothe away with kisses and cuddles and holding him close.

But he can’t lie to Eliot. Not even to make him feel better.

“El…have you noticed…you’re forgetting a lot of stuff now.”

Eliot is as still as a statue for just a second, and then, abruptly, like he’s come back to life or something, he’s up and out of the room before either of them can get it together enough to stop him.

It’s Parker who recovers first. “Well, shit.”

Hardison just nods. “Yeah. Yeah.”

She tugs on the ends of her own hair, then wraps her arms around herself. “What do we do?”

“Be here when he gets back?”

Eliot doesn’t show up by the time they go to bed. Hardison holds Parker close, and she even lets him. Maybe wants it a bit herself, which tells him more about the situation than just about anything else.

“He’ll come back, right?”   


“It’s Eliot. Of course he will.”   


She bits her lip. “What if…what if something’s wrong? Like really wrong?”   


He holds her a little tighter. Wants to say  _ It’s Eliot _ again, like that means nothing can happen to him. They’ve spent a lot of time thinking of Eliot as invulnerable.

He doesn’t say it. Starts to think that they need to re-evaluate how they think of Eliot.

On day two, Parker appears as if from thin air behind him and scuffs her shoe against the floor, a courtesy she only ever gives him.

“What if he’s forgotten us?”

Eliot hasn’t forgotten big things. He always makes it home, and he gets to extraction points. As far as Hardison can tell, he even had a wallet on him when he walked out.

Hardison knows there’s a first time for everything. Knows what could happen, knows to be scared. Feels it in his bones.

He just holds Parker tighter, and marvels that she  _ lets _ him. “It won’t.” It doesn’t sound sincere, so he tries again. “It won’t happen, Parker.”

Eliot shows up on day three, around lunch time. He has a lockbox under one arm and walks hunched over, his hood up, and it doesn’t escape Hardison’s notice that he’s wearing the same clothes he fled in, definitely a little worse for wear.

He sits at the table without saying a word, and they follow him. He begins to open up his lockbox with precise, mechanical movements that scare Hardison shitless.

And then he sees what’s inside the box, and, well, then he’s really scared.

Eliot doesn’t let them know his medical information. Hardison barely knows the man’s blood type, and only knows his allergy to a certain brain of laundry detergent because Eliot had had an allergic reaction and Eliot hadn’t been able to hide the hives. Neither he nor Parker are allowed to be present when Eliot talks to doctors, not even when he’s been shot or concussed or gotten the shit beat out of him.

Hardison made them all IDs, a long time ago, that would allow them to be there for each other in the hospital. No one would ever be able to deny them entry.

Except Eliot,  _ who he made the damn IDs for _ , who ends up in the hospital more than anyone, absolutely has categorically refused to allow them to be used. If he goes to a hospital—and that’s a big if—he does it alone. They can visit, but they get kicked out when a doctor comes in. If he gets patched up and they ask about it, he placates them with vague bullshit.

And now, Eliot is laying his medical records out for them. The folder is…significant, which is especially worrying, because Hardison was under the impression that Eliot rarely goes to see actual doctors. Not the type who keep records, at least.

He picks through the folder with deft fingers, and lays out a series of brain scans and reports.

Hardison blinks, and blinks again, and then a third time, but the images don’t change.

Hardison isn’t a doctor by any stretch of the imagination, but he can see the changes, can track the little dates clearly labelled. Can see the brain changing.

“Oh,” is all he manages to say.

It’s Parker who disappears this time, up and gone before either of them really notice. Hardison is certainly not in a place where he can react quickly, eyes still captivated by the scans.

“How long have you known?” Hardison asks softly.

Eliot still looks pinched. “Technically, I don’t know. They can’t diagnose CTE until after you’re dead. But I…I’ve had a lot of concussions, Alec. And more hits to the head than I can count.”

Hardison swallows. CTE. He understands the term. Academically, at least. But applying it to Eliot...

“You’ve been tracking this for a while.”   


“I’ve had a few post-concussion brain scans. Seen a few doctors. I…I didn’t know. Until you told me. Usually, behavioral shifts set in before memory problems.”   


Hardison raises his eyebrow at  _ behavioral shifts _ , but he has bigger fish to fry. “El, I…” He doesn’t know what to say, not really.

Eliot is…Eliot is supposed to be invulnerable. It’s naive and greedy of him and Parker, maybe, how they count on Eliot, how much they expect of him. But Eliot’s always come through for them, no questions asked.

Eliot is practically a damn superhero, invulnerable. The pinnacle of “walk it off,” never held down for long. 

He looks at one of the brain scans again. 

He still doesn’t know what to say next though.

“Look, can we…can we wait until Parker’s back? I don’t want to do this twice.”

It’s fair enough, and he doesn’t really know what to say anyways, so he nods.

Parker comes back eight hours later, twitchy as anything, but her mastermind face is on, at least. Hardison watches her, doesn’t know how Eliot’s folded-over, pinched posture will respond to that, ready to play referee if he needs to.

“What can we do?” That’s Parker. No beating around the bush. No asking questions that would just provide extraneous information. It’s a solution or nothing, with her.

Eliot scowls at her. “Nothing. It is what it is.”

Parker sits down on the arm of the overstuffed chair Eliot usually likes to sit in. “Not good enough.”  
“I don’t know what you want from me.”

“We want to help you,” Hardison says, trying to prevent any further issues. 

Eliot is all tight and curled up. “It doesn’t matter,” he murmurs, clearly not making eye contact. “I...look. This isn’t going to kill me.”

Hardison opens his mouth and then closes it again, not quite sure where to go next. One, that shouldn’t be Eliot’s gold standard of what is and isn’t acceptable. Two, he’s not sure if it’s denial on Eliot’s part or if he’s missing something, but traumatic brain injuries—like CTE—definitely do kill people. “Eliot…” He manages, then stops, not sure what else to say.

Eliot shakes his head. “Listen to me,” he snaps. “Hitters like me? We don’t live to old age, alright? I’m way past the expiration, here. It kills you fast or it kills you slow, and you all know what I do. Ain’t no way I’m gonna have enough time for it to kill me slow.”

Hardison sucks in a breath so sharp his lungs ache. Parker reaches over and squeezes his hand so hard he’s legitimately worried his hand could break.

“No,” she says.

Eliot growls. “What does that mean, Parker? You can’t cheat death. Not even you.”

The look on Parker’s face is...dark. That’s the only way Hardison knows how to describe it. It’s her vengeance look.

“No. But you’re not going to die on us, Eliot. You’re going to get old and wrinkly and live a long, long time still.”

Eliot might not get old. Even if he never gets in another fight again, he might just not ever be able to get old. 

Brains are so finicky and breakable and important, and Eliot’s…

Hardison closes his eyes for a second. Tries not to think about it.

“What do you want me to do, huh?” Eliot growls. “I have a job to do.”

Parker purses her lip. “You come first.”

Eliot’s already shaking his head. “Protecting you all comes first. That’s what I promised.”

_ Til my dying day. _ Of course Eliot would take it painfully literally.

“Eliot, you don’t gotta die for us for that,” Hardison says quietly. “You could  _ live  _ for us, huh?”

He literally cannot picture them without Eliot. Without the warm, spicy kitchen and hugs so solid they could stop the world from spinning, a furnace in bed, a growl in his ear, someone who bridges him and Parker, who is the third leg of their incredibly solid triangle.

They’ll all die one day. And Eliot’s older than both of them, and his medical records don’t show much promise. But Hardison will push that off for as long as he possibly can. Keep his happiness today, and pay the debt for it tomorrow.

Eliot’s face actually softens, even if it’s only a tiny bit. “I am what I am, Alec,” he says softly. “I regret a lot of choices I made, but none of ‘em that brought me here. You can’t change who I am.”

“You’re a lot more than just a hitter.”

“But I am a hitter.” The softness is mostly gone. “I don’t regret it.”

Hardison opens his mouth, but Parker beats him to it, and the look on her face is…Hardison shivers. “What happens if your memory slips on the job?”

He shrugs. “Something was going to take me out one day anyways. Not how I’d want to go, but…”

Hardison almost asks about that—who thinks about how they want to die?—but Parker has that ruthlessness Nate always talked about needing to be a mastermind, and she doesn’t let up on Eliot for a second.

“What happens if it’s one of us?” She asks, and she’s not mean but she might as well be cussing Eliot out. “What happens if you forget, or lose focus, and it’s one of us who gets hurt?”

Hardison holds his breath, can’t believe she went there even as of course he can. He watches, the air absolutely still.

And Eliot’s face  _ breaks. _

“Alright,” Eliot says a few hours later. “I...alright. Whatever you guys want.”

They’ve already been kissing and holding him for hours, soft whispers while he breaks in their arms.

Hardison thought he’d seen Eliot get low before. When they confronted him about Moreau, for instance. But he realizes now he knew nothing. Nothing, seemingly, compares to the accusation that he might get them killed.

Hardison’s first instinct is to soothe Eliot, to hold him a bit tighter, to kiss him again. Parker, though, Parker goes for the kill. “You’ll quit?” She asks. “Be done?”

Eliot squirms, but he nods. Hardison does what he wanted to in the first place and kisses him, soft and slow. “You’re more than just a hitter, El,” he says seriously, pushing Eliot’s hair off his face.

Parker nods, and then snuggles impossibly closer. “You’re our Eliot.”

Their next job is a  _ disaster. _ Mostly because, even though Hardison found Parker a low-stakes job to plan, with absolutely no need for a hitter, even though Parker’s made a ridiculously safe plan, Eliot won’t get his ass off the comms the whole time. 

He can’t keep his mouth shut, offering unsolicited advice, getting in the way, and making a general nuisance of himself. Parker actually growls at him, in a decent Eliot approximation, which leads to him growling right back. All in all, Hardison is  _ done _ with this.

He feels bad for Eliot. He might even say they should reconsider—not being an active part of the team anymore is clearly not good for Eliot’s sense of self—except when they get back, when Parker has already disappeared up into the rafters and Eliot is stomping around, Eliot actually looks  _ confused _ when the kettle whistles. Because he forgot he put it on.

He steels himself. They’ve done the right thing.

So he sits on the couch silently, giving Eliot a nearby presence but not interfering while he licks his wounds. And then he begins his search.

Twenty minutes later, he’s found something he thinks will work out for all of them. He looks up, and sure enough, Parker is in the rafters, giving him a nod.

Eliot, predictably, doesn’t react well when Hardison shows him the pictures.

Hardison did a good job, if he does say so himself. The house is pretty spacious, with the high ceilings Parker will want, and a big, high end kitchen. He’ll have his own office. Eliot can plant a garden. Maybe get a dog. Hell, even chickens or something.

And the apartment has been  _ fine _ for the three of them, no complaints, but maybe with a little more space they’ll spread out. Get some new hobbies or something.

And he thought the modern farmhouse vibe, with the hand painted shutters and big wraparound porch would speak to something in Eliot’s country-boy heart. 

But right now, Eliot’s heart is too caught up on loss to think about much more.

His eyes go shuttered, completely closing them out, even as he can’t quite keep the hurt out of his voice. “You taking the Pub away from me too?”

“Eliot,  _ no.” _ Hardison reaches for him but Eliot jerks away, working himself up.

“I haven’t forgotten how to cook yet,” he growls. “Can’t get in your damn way there.” He seems to come down, all of a sudden, collapsing a bit. “Can’t hurt anyone there.”

Hardison is more worried about Eliot hurting himself at any given time, honestly. He reaches for Eliot again, and this time, Eliot tenses but doesn’t shrug him off. “Listen. That is  _ your _ kitchen. It will always be your kitchen. You designed the menu. You’re the soul of that place, alright? If you wanna cook there every day, ain’t no one stopping you. The house is just a half hour away. Just…we don’t need to live here anymore.”

Eliot’s still a rock wall of muscle. “You don’t want me living here.”

“No,” Hardison agrees, because it’s true. Because Eliot will work himself into knots about the jobs, if his home is also their office.

He doesn’t relax any, and he doesn’t look at Hardison. “I’ll go check it out,” he says gruffly, and Hardison takes it as the major concession it is while Eliot walks off to the kitchen.

Eliot’s grumpy face, as Parker calls it, is in full force during the entirety of their house tour, but Hardison also notices how his eyes linger on the kitchen, and the multiple sweeps his eyes do over the large bedroom—bigger than what they have now, and with a big window Hardison is sure Eliot will want to replace with bullet-proof glass, even as he appreciates the view. Hell, there’s even a gym for Eliot.

The previous owner did a fair amount of gardening, too, so Eliot can see how that’s all laid out. Hardison knows he grew some of his own food, back in Boston, in little finicky window boxes. And while Hardison wants to modernize the setup—smart sprinklers and irrigation, for a start, and that greenhouse could use an update for sure—it’s a good start. Might get Eliot interested in something.

They end up on that wraparound porch, Eliot staring off into the distance. It’s a fair amount of land, and in the direction Eliot’s looking, you can’t quite see the end of it with the naked eye. 

And something gets caught in Hardison’s throat. Parker talked about Eliot growing old and wrinkly. Maybe they’ll get lucky. Get some rocking chairs for the porch, like boring normal people. Grow old. Enjoy sunsets.

Being a boring normal person never sounded so good.

Parker suddenly appears beside him, squeezing his shoulder. He doesn’t even jump anymore, even though he never heard her coming.

“Fine,” Eliot says after a long while, and something inside Hardison relaxes.

He puts in a cash offer on their way back to the pub.

“You know we love you, right?” Hardison asks softly in bed that night. They’ve worked Eliot into the middle, which they’ve been doing more and more often lately.

“I know,” Eliot says. His eyes are closed, he’s impossibly still, but he’s listening.

“And we’re not…we’re not doing this to punish you, or ‘cause we hate you, or think you’re not good enough or something stupid like that?”

The silence hangs in the air for a minute. “I know,” Eliot says again, begrudgingly.

“Good,” Parker pipes up from the other side of the bed. “Because those would be stupid things to think. You’re our Eliot.”

Eliot’s still so, so still though. “I know things have to change,” he admits quietly. “I can’t…I can’t be useful on the job anymore. Not if you’re worried I’m gonna get you guys hurt. But I…I’ve been a hitter my whole life, practically. I don’t really remember the kid I was before, and I couldn’t be him again anyways.” He stops for a minute. “I’ve been  _ your _ hitter for ten years. That’s my job. It’s…everything. What the hell do I do next?”   


Hardison starts to stroke Eliot’s hair, scratching at his scalp lightly, the way Eliot likes, the way that usually relaxes him, but not tonight. His heart breaks a bit, to hear about what’s in Eliot’s head, and they’re going to have their work cut out for them, helping Eliot find something that’s not hitting.

The man loves to cook, the man practically runs their restaurant, and yet he still considers that secondary to standing between them and danger.

Hardison gives in to his instincts and leans down to kiss Eliot’s head. “I know what Parker said,” he murmurs. “About what if you lose focus and we get hurt. And I know she said it ‘cause she’s smart, and she knew that’s what would get through to you. But I don’t  _ care  _ ‘bout that, El. I care…I care that, what if you get knocked in the head again? What if…what if this time you don’t get up? The more damage you have, the bigger the risk, and…” He closes his eyes, steadies his breathing. “I can’t, Eliot. I can’t watch you die doing this.”

Eliot’s breathing goes deep and ragged, a sign that he is truly past the edge of his own control. “I know,” he murmurs. “I…I’m not gonna lie. That’s how I always planned to go out. But—”

“But it’s not good enough,” Parker says sharply. “Eliot, we don’t…we can’t…we need you. We need you to live for us.”

Hardison kisses Eliot’s forehead again. “What do you think, El? Think you can live for us?”   


Eliot breathes a soft  _ yes _ , but what Hardison hears is  _ til my dying day _ , and it’s enough.

They don’t run a job for a bit, too busy with moving, too busy with making sure the Pub will be properly managed, now that they’re not on site every single day. They leave the office in the back—Leverage International still needs a headquarters, after all—but Hardison doubts they’ll go to the office every single day. He has a new set up, ready to be installed at the new house. They’ll only need the office for jobs.

The three of them team up to redo the security, and Hardison pretends not to notice that Parker follows along behind Eliot, double-checking. He wants to be mad at her, but can’t blame her.

Eliot does a fine job, if maybe a little slower than he once would. As much as Hardison hates to admit it, they still watch him.

Hardison installs smart lights and alarms and gets the smart sprinklers and irrigation he wanted. The whole house can be controlled from his phone, and Eliot grumbles when Hardison shows him how to work it all.

“You need a hitter,” Eliot says abruptly one day, as they watch him re-tile the first floor bathroom, which he claimed had the ugliest tile he’s ever seen.

“Hm?”   


“A hitter,” he repeats, focusing very intently on his work. “You can’t go in the field alone.”   


“I have my taser,” Parker says.

Eliot breaks one of the too-expensive tiles. “That’s not good enough, Parker,” he growls. “There’s some things out there bigger than a damn taser. What’re you gonna do when someone’s pointing a gun at you, huh?” He looks at them for a moment, then looks down again. “I…I did what you asked. I’m out, ‘cause you want it. Don’t ask me to watch you get hurt without me.”

That’s…fair, Hardison supposes. Give and take. Relationships are about compromise. “Who’d you have in mind?”   


“Quinn still owes me a favor from Germany. I could get him here for a while. For something more long-term…I’ll work on it.”

Quinn does come, because Eliot called. They don’t invite him to the house, at Eliot’s insistence. Quinn is not a friend. He’s a hitter who sells his services, Eliot reminds them a dozen times. He’s loyal because loyalty is currency, not because he likes them or believes in their cause.

Quinn does like them, though. Or, well, tolerates them. He finds them somewhat amusing, finds what they do vaguely interesting, appreciates at least some of the toys Hardison provides.

He does like Eliot, and asks after him all the time. And they’re at the office every day, but Eliot hasn’t come by the Pub since they moved. It’s like he’s ashamed to show his face, like anyone there would judge him, or even realize anything’s changed, instead of just saying “Yes, Chef,” and jumping to do his bidding.

So Eliot’s absence is a giant mystery to Quinn. “What, he break a leg or something?”

Parker and Hardison exchange a look. Eliot would kill them if they told Quinn the truth. 

“He…retired,” Parker offers, as vaguely as she can.

Quinn stares at them for a moment, then cracks up. “Good one. Like Spencer can just  _ retire _ . What really happened?”

Parker and Hardison exchange an uneasy glance at that. 

“He’s got a lot on his plate,” Hardison tries. Thankfully, Quinn knows they’re not going to give him the full story, and leaves it at that.

Eliot does sit on the porch, although not in a rocking chair. Still, seeing him there, waiting for them, with the sun setting in the west side of the house, does make something inside Hardison’s chest go soft and gooey.

“How was it today?”

Hardison slides into the other chair, and Parker perches on the railing. “We’re going in tomorrow.”

And just like that, any relaxation Eliot might have achieved is gone.

He stands up, abruptly. “Gotta make dinner.”

Parker and Hardison frown after him. “He’ll get used to it,” Parker says, but the waver in her voice gives her away.

The job is easy. Hardison wouldn’t say that Quinn fits in perfectly—he’s not Eliot, and they have an Eliot sized hole that is clearly visible—but he’s a good guy, good at his job. He’s clearly adept at working with new crews, and he fills in holes easily.

Eliot stays off the comms the whole time, too, so Hardison is sure that this means everything worked. He trusted Quinn to take care of them, and everyone is fine now. 

Except of course that’s not true. Nothing is ever quite so easy.

Parker drives them home—and it’s not lost on Hardison how quickly that house has become  _ home— _ and the first bad sign is that Eliot isn’t outside.

He could be working out, or taking a nap, or in the shower or in the kitchen. He could be making them an awesome dinner, putting his heart and soul into something to welcome them home.

But something feels off, and if Hardison has learned anything over the last ten years, it’s when to trust that feeling.

Parker clearly has the same thought, and she skids to a stop in their freshly paved driveway, and they race inside, keys still in the ignition.

Eliot  _ is _ in the kitchen, but he’s on the floor, curled up on himself, and it takes a few moments for Hardison’s brain to process that image. To think about it applying to Eliot. 

At first, when Hardison’s brain finally clicks into gear, he thinks something happened. Embolism, or stroke, or any of the things he’s feared so much since this all started.

But Eliot has…Eliot has  _ scratches _ on his arms, from his own jagged fingernails, and Hardison’s knees hit the floor so fast he can’t even really process it.

He and Parker each take an arm, even though Eliot’s clearly stopped scratching himself. It’s not about that, more about anchoring him.

Eliot can’t summon up a normal face, but he tries his hardest. “It went okay?”   


“It went  _ fine _ ,” Parker stresses, rubbing at Eliot’s hand like he sometimes does for her.

“Good. That’s…good.”

“Yeah,” Hardison says slowly, trying to figure out what the hell comes next. “It’s great. Easy-peasy. Quinn was there when we needed him, and—”

It’s very clearly the wrong thing to say, and Eliot’s flinch is so violent it almost shakes them loose. “Hey, hey,” Hardison tries again, but he’s already at a loss. 

Eliot takes an ugly, jagged breath. “He can take care of you guys,” he says. “He’s good. I wouldn’t have…I wouldn’t have brought him in if he couldn’t do the job.”

“But you want to be there,” Parker surmises.

“It’s my  _ job _ to be there, to look out for you two!”

“Eliot, you know—”

“Yeah yeah. Live for you, not die for you. I get it. It doesn’t make this easier, you know.”

Hardison loves Parker and Eliot. He does. He loves them, no questions asked, until the end of time, the end of the world and back. And even then…he can’t imagine loving them the way Eliot does. Where he doesn’t know how to live for them, only knows how to be ready to die for them. Where he’s accepted that—accepted it so easily, too easily. Where he gives everything. It’s a damn scary way to love.

“I think we messed up,” Parker announces. 

“The con?”

“No. Us. This.”

Eliot…does not react well to that, to say the least. Like he thinks now,  _ now _ , is really when they’re suddenly going to decide to kick him loose. Like Hardison hadn’t bought that man a restaurant, learned to brew beer so he could work alongside him. Like they hadn’t just bought a damn house together.

“What about this?”   


“We made a promise, but we didn’t keep it.” Parker is studying the scratches on Eliot’s arms intently. “We agreed we’d all change—”

Hardison is already nodding, “—For better or worse—”

“But we only made Eliot change, and that’s wrong,” she concludes. 

“What are you saying, Parker?”   


“Maybe it’s time to retire,” she says.

Eliot scoffs, but then he looks at them, and he must see how much they are not kidding about this. “I…”

Hardison squeezes his hand. “We change together,” he says solemnly, and is gratified when, after a moment, Eliot nods.

“We need a new crew,” Parker says two days later, eating the dinner Eliot made.

“Would Quinn—”

“No,” Eliot interrupts him, then pauses. “Maybe? He might be convinced. I was…you know Shelley retired a year ago? Bullet through his shoulder, fucked the muscle up a bit. He can still work, but the PT was a nightmare and…yeah. I think…well, we helped people. I think he’d do it.”

Parker perks up at that. “I know a few thieves. Maybe….if I can convince more than one of them, there could be a few teams. Flexible. Based on what they need for the job…” Her mastermind brain starts turning it over.

Hardison knows a few hackers who aren’t Cha0s who would be good enough. If they won’t do it just to do the right thing, a few of them will definitely do it for the thrill of the challenge. It’s possible.

Parker laughs, loud and brash. “We’d really be consultants, then.”

Eliot nods slowly, thinking it over. “Leaving a legacy.”   


“Keeping the fight going.” Hardison raises his beer. “Well, to Leverage, then.”

“To Leverage.”

Sunsets at their new house really are nice. They’ve bought a variety of chairs—including one of those hanging swing chairs Parker wanted that Eliot spent a few hours securing—and can sit out on their porch after dinner, watching the sunset.

Eliot’s been sipping a beer and looking pensive, and Hardison is itching to know why. Eliot’s—Eliot’s been on a roll. He’s finally back at the Pub, and he designed a brand new starter menu to reflect the seasonal produce they’ve been able to order. He’s been turning out new specials like he jusg can’t stop thinking of them. The new Leverage is off to a start. Maybe a little messy, but so where they at first, and none of them have any major concerns. Eliot has no damn reason to look so pensive.

Hardison’s learned to wait his people out though. 

“You know this doesn’t fix anything?” Eliot murmurs. 

“What doesn’t?”

Eliot makes a gesture with his free hand, waving it around as if to point to everything. “This. I’m not gonna get better Hardison.” He takes a sip. “Even if I never get in another fight again, even if we stay away from the job and we do everything else…I’m only gonna get worse.”

“But you’ll be here,” Parker says.

Eliot takes another sip of beer. “Dying fast or dying slow. Not sure which I’d prefer.”

“Can’t you think of it as  _ living _ ?”

Eliot gives him a look he can’t quite place. “Doing my best. But…it doesn’t matter. This, right here? Is the best it’s ever gonna be again. No matter what we do.”

Hardison and Parker exchange a look. They know. Parker has taken to printing off daily schedules and attaching them to the fridge and the doors of the house. Hardison bought a bunch of organizational magnets, like to tell when the dishwasher is loaded, or when you’ve already brushed your teeth, or when the garbage needs to go out. He’s bought one for taking your pills, too, because that’s very likely a future reality, and one for feeding and walking a dog, because he’s still relatively convinced that will happen inside of six months. Things they would have just reminded each other of before now get put in writing. 

Eliot…Eliot slips sometimes. Brushes his teeth four times in one morning or can’t remember where he put his phone not minutes before. He’ll crinkle up his face, trying to remember some important, obscure fact he could once so easily remember.

His cooking hasn’t slipped yet but it will one day, and Hardison does not look forward to having to tell the kitchen staff at the Pub about that. He hasn’t wondered off or done anything dangerous, but there’s no promise that that isn’t a future reality for all of them.

Someday…someday, this could get really bad. Eliot could start to forget them.

And it will hurt. Unimaginably so, he imagines. But they’ll do it.

He and Parker know what they signed up for. Eliot. All of Eliot, for every single second they can have him.

“We love you anyways,” Parker says, and it makes Eliot jump a bit, but some of the tension bleeds out of his shoulders.

She’s right, she’s always right. Hardison looks around again, sees them on the porch, sees the almost-set sun in the background. Someday, if they’re really lucky, they’ll get to do this when they’re old. But even if they don’t, Hardison thinks, this will be enough.


End file.
